As you look up at me and think you know
That in the light of now I’m such and such—
This light has been relinquished long ago.
Logic, in fact, can prove me so and so,
For sight may be a shade less dark than touch.
As you look up at me and think you know,
The arabesque of logic twirls its toe;
Its foothold on a pinhead feigns a clutch—
This sleight has been relinquished long ago.